Tastes Like Winter Read online

  I assume it’s Genna coming back for me, so I am surprised when I hear Jake’s deep voice.

  “Hey.”

  I am caught off guard, but I try my damnedest not to appear like I am. “Hi, Jake.”

  There are plenty of college kids around tonight, but I wouldn’t have thought the jock crowd to be his scene. I say as much and ask him what brings him out tonight.

  “Yeah, it’s not my scene… Not anymore, at least. I was dropping Sam off, saw a couple guys I knew from high school and got talked into coming in.”

  I notice he is holding a water bottle, and his fingers fidget, picking at the label as he speaks.

  “What about you? You often come to parties to sit in dark corners by yourself?”

  “I try to avoid it, but I’m not always so lucky. My best friend is a bit of a social butterfly. I’m her awkward and stunted sidekick.”

  “I doubt that. In fact, as far as I can see, you don’t appear to be awkward or stunted at all.” He winks at me before adding more seriously, “How are things with your parents?”

  The light from the fire reflects off of his cheekbones. It is paired with a genuine look of concern in his eye and causes the attraction that I can’t shake to fire up again and my breath to catch. “Much better.”

  “That’s great to hear.” His lips lift in a sincere smile, and the butterflies in my stomach flap their wings. “Are they working things out?”

  “Ha!” My sudden outburst confuses him, so I clarify, “Not at all. My dad is actually moving out. They sat me down and told me last night.”

  “Oh.” I don’t think he expected that answer. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it will be good. Great, actually. The fighting should stop,” I tell him.

  “Hey, sometimes that’s the most you can ask for. I’m glad to hear things are looking up. You do look better today, more relaxed.”

  “Thanks?”

  “Sorry, that was an attempt at a compliment.” While looking down at the bottle in his hands, he adds, “I meant you look pretty tonight.”

  A blush rises to my cheeks, and I try to hide the smile creeping up. Genna is forgiven for dragging me here. I glance across the circle of chairs, looking for a distraction, and notice a pair of guys across the way, lighting up what looks to be a joint. They soon proceed to pass it around. Crap!

  This is why I hate parties. I groan. Jake notices my shift in posture and follows my gaze. Knowing him, he will probably want to partake, and I will be stuck being the uptight one once again. This always happens to me at these types of gatherings.

  He looks noticeably uncomfortable himself, shocking me. His body is tense, and the rise and fall of his chest has stopped, suggesting that he is holding his breath. His reaction confuses me, but I am compelled to rescue us both from any distress.

  “Want to show me where you got that water?” I gesture to the bottle in his hands, the label now completely in shreds.

  “Sure thing.” He looks relieved. “I snagged one out of the fridge inside. I’ll show you.”

  As soon as I stand, I bend and lend him a hand to help pull him up from his position on the ground. He thanks me, and when our skin touches, I am greeted again by that tingly sensation that is brought on by any contact with him. He brushes his backside to remove any dirt, and we head inside.

  I see Genna hasn’t moved from the spot on the porch where I left her at the beginning of the night. She is engaged in conversation with an older guy I don’t recognize. Jake steps past the sliding glass door I spotted earlier, reaching for the handle of a smaller door that leads directly into the kitchen. Once we’re inside, I notice him relax. He grabs me a bottle from the fridge as if this is his own home, and I wonder if he knows the Micklesons personally or if he is usually this at ease. However, his confidence now contrasts with how nervous he was before we left the fire, and it sparks additional curiosity inside of me.

  I take small sips of my drink as we chat, and before I know it, the crowd has pushed us into a corner where the marble kitchen countertops converge. I lean back against the sink with Jake in front of me, caging me in. He’s standing close enough that each jostle of the crowd bumps him forward slightly and into me. I’ve never been so happy for confined spaces. When a particularly hard shove comes from behind, he braces himself with his hands on the counter on either side of me, in a protective stance. The closeness allows me to smell his cologne, and my head swims.

  “So tell me more about yourself, Emma. What makes you tick?”

  I usually hate questions so vague, but the way Jake asks makes me think he actually wants to know.

  I decide to give him a quick summary of my life to date. “High Beach born and raised. An only child.” My life has been rather boring and basic.

  “How old are you?” he asks.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Senior?”

  “Nope. Junior.”

  He considers my response. “You’re old for a junior.”

  “Well, my birthday is in August, and my parents decided not to force the school to move me up into the older class.”

  “Making you older and wiser than all of your classmates?” he teases.

  “Something like that… How old are you?”

  “Nineteen. Too old for you?” His eyes twinkle mischievously.

  “Considering how old and wise you say I am, I don’t think so.”

  I’m flirting with Jake! Eek!

  We move on from surface topics, and he probes me further. He begins to ask about my favorites in what I guess is an attempt to fish more out of me. He starts off easy. “Favorite color?”

  “Purple.”

  “Favorite food?”

  “Ice cream.”

  “What flavor?”

  “Mint chocolate chip.”

  He nods as if that was the correct answer.

  “Favorite band?”

  I have to think on that question for a moment because there are too many to choose from. I decide on the Lumineers, and he nods again.

  “They’re good. Great lyrics, and I like the chick cello player.”

  I think he tries to throw me for a loop by asking what my favorite book is next, one of the hardest questions you can ask a reader. I have to think on that one even longer.

  “A Separate Peace?” My response is a question because I’m not entirely sure.

  “Why?”

  And with one word, I am stripped bare. Intimidated, I struggle to answer. “Well, Gene and Finny remind me of me and my best friend… minus the rivalry, I guess.”

  “You guess? You don’t take me as someone that’s so uncertain, Emma.”

  Spurred on by his challenge, I add, “I like that Gene is an introvert. I like that he acts impulsively for one second and spends the rest of the book, the rest of his life, questioning that one moment, that one-minute decision. Well, I don’t like it, but I get it.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Does that remind you of someone?”

  I shrug. I don’t like how easily he can read me. “What about you, Jake? What’s your favorite book?”

  “We aren’t talking about me. This is get-to-know-Emma hour, not get-to-know-Jake.”

  The curiosity is killing me, but he carries on.

  “Dream travel destination?”

  “New Zealand,” I answer begrudgingly. “You know, I am not sure I like being grilled like this.”

  “Trust me, you like it.” He smirks, and maybe he’s right. Maybe I do. “Dream job?”

  “Is professional reader a real thing?”

  That makes him chuckle. “If so, sign me up.”

  When he asks what my biggest fear is, I push back.

  “You first,” I demand.

  He refuses to answer, staring me down with a devilish and sexy grin, trying to get me to cave.

  “No way! Emma hour is over. You, sir, are up,” I insist.

  Instead, he looks down at his watch and decides it’s time for him to leave.

  “Boo! You’re no fun!
” I bump him with my shoulder. All my previous nerves about being around him have faded. I’m still aware of the way his smile warms my cheeks, his eyes pierce my soul, and…well… everything about him makes my heart speed up. But he is so easy to talk to, and I don’t want our night together to come to an end.

  “Eager for me to stay, huh? Don’t fret, my pet, I’m sure I’ll see you around the shop soon enough. You can get your Jake fill in then. Besides, your friend has been staring us down through the window for a while now, and I think she might be missing you.”

  I look to the glass where he is gesturing, and sure enough, Genna is there, giving me an “Oh really now, you little ho bag?” look.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I should probably go check on her.”

  “You do that. I’ll see you around. If you see Sam, tell her to text me if she needs a ride home.”

  “Will do.”

  He pulls me into a hug, but it’s too short and his closeness has me fumbling, so I don’t even collect myself long enough to hug him back. As soon as I can no longer make out his backside through the crowd—his very nice backside, at that—I head outside to face Genna.

  “So that’s why you were asking about Sam Addler, you sneaky little girl, you!”

  “It’s nothing. We work together.” I try to hide my grin, but it’s no use. I check my cell for the time and am surprised to see hours have passed since Jake and I started talking.

  “You ready to go?” I ask, hopeful that she has fulfilled her needs. Now that Jake is gone, I have no reason to be excited about hanging around any longer.

  “Sure. Let me make another round and say good-bye.”

  Ugh. I hope this “round” goes quicker than the last one; she never made it off the porch. Leaning against the railing, I see Sam, but before I have the chance to pass on Jake’s message, she gives me a less than friendly look. What’s her problem? Genna said she can be a bitch, but she shouldn’t have any issues with me. I decide to let her find her own way home and follow after Genna to speed her good-byes along.

  As soon as we are back in the car and driving home, Genna adjusts her position in the passenger seat so that she is facing me. “Spill! Now!”

  “Spill what?” I try to act innocent.

  “Oh, no way! You are not getting off that easy. I saw you getting all chummy with Jake Addler in Ryan’s kitchen. What was that about?”

  ”I told you we work together.”

  Tonight was amazing, but it’s still too soon to share my feelings with Genna. Her face tells me that she doesn’t believe that bullshit for a second, and I can’t help but giggle in response.

  “Ha! I knew it! You like him!” She is positively delighted by the idea that I might be interested in something other than books. “Oooh, and a bad boy at that! I can’t believe it. You dog, you.”

  I keep quiet and stick to smiling as I navigate the side streets back to Genna’s house.

  NOVEMBER

  “If you had to pick, what circle would you spend eternity in?” I ask Jake.

  It’s pouring outside, the raindrops smack across the window with a constant hammering. My legs are kicked up on the counter beside the register, folded neatly one over the other. Dante’s Inferno is open in my lap, and my head, cocked gently to the side, rests on the seat back. Jake is slouched in the seat beside me with his own copy of the poem open before him. His feet are propped up, resting comfortably on the side of my chair.

  It’s a ghost town today. The heavy downpour has caused customers to stay away, and the store has seen no activity as of yet. My day’s assignment was to set up the Thanksgiving displays, but with Jake’s help, I finished in a few hours.

  As promised, I’ve seen him around more often, mostly in passing as we change shifts, but our easiness from the party has continued. This afternoon, after sitting together watching the seconds on the clock tick by in silence, I told Jake he should take off, insisting that he must have something better to do. He assured me that he did not and instead took up next to me, reading.

  He is much further along in the book than I am, and I guess he must be at their ninth and final destination by now. My slower pace is due to our class schedule. I don’t like getting ahead in school-assigned books because by the time we discuss them in class, the material is no longer fresh in my head.

  “The seventh circle—violence,” he answers without missing a beat.

  “It’s obvious you’ve thought about that answer already. Why the seventh?” I ask curiously.

  Instead of answering, he asks, “What about you?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Not the second circle with the other carnal sinners, you lusty little girl?” he kids in a low and seductive voice, playing the tempter.

  “What?” My cheeks redden, and to conceal my fluster, I grab his unsuspecting foot. I pull the laces tight so his shoe constricts around him and a loop forms at the front.

  “Hey!”

  “Hay is for horses,” I say because I’m unsure of how else to respond.

  He laughs good-heartedly and pulls at his shoe to loosen the string. He defiantly puts his foot back up on my chair. I cover it with my hand, taunting him, and he gives me a warning look.

  “Don’t even think about it!”

  I smile but don’t move. My hand continues to rest on his foot as I return to my book. I flip a page, momentarily breaking my concentration, and realize I’ve been picking at the lace, my hand dancing lightly across the toe as I read. I pull my hand back and rest it stiffly on my stomach.

  He looks up and tilts his head. “That felt good. Don’t stop.”

  I squint, pleased but slightly embarrassed at being acknowledged. I replace my hand and continue kneading at the canvas, mindful now of the coarse material under my soft fingertips.

  We remain that way, quietly, deep in our divinely comedic study, when the ring of the bell startles us alert.

  Betsy pushes into the store in a huff as she struggles to collapse her umbrella behind her. “It’s really coming down out there,” she says.

  I drop my feet from the counter and straighten myself. Jake mirrors my posture and adjusts to a more appropriate position.

  “Oh! Hi, Jake. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Betsy says.

  He holds up his book. “Emma and I are reading the same thing, and I stuck around to discuss it with her.” He lowers his eyes in my direction, looking guilty.

  “Which book?”

  “Dante’s Inferno.”

  “Oh. Heavy stuff, no? I guess it’s fitting, in this weather.” She gestures to the window, where it looks like a hurricane is blowing by.

  “What circle is that?” she jokes without giving us time to answer. “Has it been dead like this all day?”

  I dip my head affirmatively.

  “I guessed as much. I’ve got some paperwork to get through, so I figured I’d do it here and relieve you. There is no point in having you sit around for nothing.”

  I want to say that I don’t mind but bite my tongue, not wanting Jake to think me too eager. I remind myself to try to play it cool. “All right. Thanks.”

  I jump up and head to the back to grab my bag and coat. While walking to the front, I remember that my mom dropped me off that morning. Her car is in the shop getting new tires mounted, so she borrowed mine. We agreed she would pick me up at five when my shift was over. I glance down at my phone. It was three o’clock. Seeing my apprehension, Betsy asks what’s wrong.

  “Oh nothing, my mom has my car. I need to call her to come pick me up now.” I double-click the send button on my cell and pull up my contact list.

  “I can drive you,” Jake suggests casually.

  I force my face to remain calm but do a flip inside. “You don’t mind? I live right off of Market Street. It’s not too far.”

  “Nope. Market Street is on my way.” He tugs on the coat he had abandoned earlier on the window ledge and tucks his book into the inner pocket to shield it from the rain.


  “Perfect. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe,” Betsy warns, and Jake ushers me out the door.

  He pulls out his keys as we run to the black sedan. After Jake hits the unlock button and the car beeps, I open the door and jump inside. The rain already drenched my hair, and it sticks awkwardly to my forehead. Jake runs a hand across his own head and shakes out the drops from his hair, spraying them like a dog.

  I look around. The car smells faintly of smoke, but it is tidy. He turns the key and cranks the defroster to clean the condensation from the windshield. I take a chance and flip on the stereo and am delighted to see that the CD that begins playing is one of my favorites. I hum quietly along, and he joins in during the chorus.

  After idling a few minutes, the front glass clears sufficiently, and he eases out of the parking space. When he pulls up to the curb in front of my house several minutes later, I am genuinely disappointed that our afternoon together has come to an end. Drawing the moment out, I lean back, lay my cheek against the headrest, and look at him. He mirrors my pose but doesn’t speak.

  I sigh, making up an excuse for not wanting to leave yet. “It’s so toasty warm in here and so cold and wet out there, I don’t want to get out.”

  “I could drive you right up to your door, but I don’t think your mom would appreciate me parking in her pansies.”

  “Probably not,” I agree.

  He reaches into his pocket, shifting in his seat to pull his phone out of the denim. “Let me get your number before you leave.”

  I don’t think a boy has ever asked me for my digits before, and having that boy be Jake makes me ecstatic.

  I take a moment to calm myself before answering, and Jake must read that as a sign to retreat because he adds, “You know I should probably have it…for emergency purposes.”

  I tell him the number, and he shoots me a text so I have his. I say good-bye, leave the warmth of his car, and start walking up the front walkway. Before I reach the door, my phone buzzes in my pocket, signaling another text.

  Jake: I trust you made it to the door okay. I probably should have walked you so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone.

  I tease him back.